


native tongue

by ictus



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Mentor/Protégé, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Ravager takes on an apprentice.





	native tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).

> Set in the New 52, prior to the events of _Deathstroke (2014)_ and _Batman & Robin Eternal (2015)_. Takes place sometime during the period where Rose was doing mercenary work for Penguin and residing in one of his safehouses in Gotham. Many thanks to asuralucier for the beta!

“Again.”

Rose’s voice rings out in the training room, flat and authoritative. Cass holds her stance for another breath, then returns to neutral; the shift fluid, practised. Nodding an acknowledgement, she returns to her original place to repeat the sequence. Cass moves through each of the stances in succession, her katana held fast in her unwavering fist, directing the blade with faultless precision as she progresses through the set.

“Stop.”

Cass is caught in a lunge, the blade arched over her head like a scorpion’s tail primed to strike. There is disappointment written into the lines of Rose’s body, and Cass can already sense what’s coming next.

“Drop the weapon. Maintain the stance.”

Rose’s hands are on her the second she drops the katana, finding their way to her hips, shifting them so that they’re square. She manipulates Cass’s body expertly, correcting her posture as if Cass’s body is a weapon, and Rose is the forger.

“You should be able to go lower than this,” Rose says, exerting a steady pressure on Cass’s shoulders that forces her into a deeper lunge. Cass gasps as pain spikes up the back of her leg. Rose’s hands disappear instantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?”

Cass closes her eyes, unable to meet Rose’s critical gaze. She unlocks her muscles and allows herself to be pushed onto the mat, and within seconds Rose has her leg bent at the knee and pushed up against her chest, stretching out her hamstring. “I could see you were unbalanced,” she says now putting all of her weight on Cass’s leg, her breath hot on Cass’s neck. “If I can see that, so can your opponent. And if your opponent can detect a weakness”—she adds more pressure—“they will exploit it.” The length of Rose’s body is now pressed against hers, and if it weren’t for her bent leg trapped between them, their bodies would be flush, chest to chest and hip to hip. Cass goes dizzy with the pain of the stretch, the white shock of Rose’s hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights as the soft lines of her face swim in and out of focus.

Then suddenly, she’s gone. In one, smooth movement, Rose pushes herself off the mats, leaving Cass alone on the ground, her skin tingling at all they points where they touched.

Cass is still breathless, but Rose allows her no respite.

“Again,” she calls out over her shoulder.

*

They live in a mansion.

When Rose had said Penguin would offer them protection in one of his safehouses, Cass had imagined a decrepit apartment in the Narrows, complete with water-stained ceilings, rotting furniture, and a front door with no fewer than five deadbolts. What she hadn’t expected: marble floors, crystal chandeliers, wood-panelled hallways. Penguin is the type of evil who thrives on wealth and power, using the former to demonstrate the latter. So when he hires a mercenary—not just any mercenary but the _Ravager_—he’s sure to put her up in one of the biggest and most historic estates this side of Bristol. The only thing _safe_ about this safehouse is the dozen or so hired guns he has patrolling the perimeter—which is something of an empty gesture considering who they’re protecting.

Cass can give or take the high ceilings, the priceless antiques. What really captures her interest is the gym: twenty thousand square feet built into the into the foundations of the house; every piece of equipment, every tool, every weapon, all at her disposal. Each morning she rises early and meditates, then it’s warmup laps in the pool followed by gymnastics and weight training. Rose joins her around midday, and they pick up right where they left off the previous day: one on one hand to hand, brutal sparring matches that leave her bruised and aching at the end of every session.

Cass can read Rose’s body: she knows where Rose is going to strike. But Rose’s precognition, her speed, her years of experience—they make her almost unbeatable. Cass knows Rose won’t take her out into the field, won’t settle for anything less than absolute perfection. Until—

“There’s a job coming up next month. Sixteen men launching simultaneous hits on four targets.” Cass freezes where she’s stretching her leg out over the parallel bars, her forehead pressed to her knee. She holds the stretch, but they both know Rose has her complete attention.

“Penguin’s recruiting other men so we can launch a coordinated attack,” Rose continues. “But I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them. The chances of this turning into an all-out brawl are pretty high. I’ll need someone out there in the field with me, watching my back.”

Cass unfolds her body slowly, raising her leg off the bar and lowering it with perfect control. Rose’s eyes follow her every movement while Cass keeps her features neutral, not wanting to appear overly eager. Rose can read her almost as well as she can read Rose, has no trouble interpreting Cass’s wordless communication. _I’ve had practice,_ Rose had said one day, and in response to Cass’s raised eyebrow, she’d said, _it runs in the family_.

Finally, Cass straightens and raises her eyes to Rose’s. She inclines her head.

“Good,” Rose says, a sharp edge to the curve of her smile. “I think you’re nearly ready.”

*

It’s not until their third week of training that Cass finally manages to land a hit on Rose.

Cass has trained for this her entire life, has relentlessly honed her technique to perfection. Cass knows that her marks will be burly men who outmatch her on strength alone, that she’ll need to use her speed and agility to her advantage at every possible instance. Rose, of course, is aware of this; she knows all of Cass’s tricks, and has taught her more than a few herself. So it comes as a shock to both of them when Cass finally manages to best her.

They’re sparring; back and forth across the mats, both of them covered in a sheen of sweat, chests heaving with exertion. It’s hand to hand this time, no weapon to put between her body and Rose’s, and the fight is so much more intimate this way. Every strike requires close quarters contact, every lunge leaves her vulnerable to attack, and soon it becomes less of a fight and more of a dance, a constant rhythm of advance and retreat, strike and block.

Cass advances on Rose and she retreats in kind, her footwork flawless, always maintaining enough distance to protect herself while maximising every opportunity to strike back. Even though they’ve done this countless times, Cass can’t help but be in awe of the way Rose moves. Cass reads her body and it’s like poetry; a cadence to every sequence, an ictus with every strike.

Cass takes an extra half step forward, closing the gap, and she can see the laughter in Rose’s eyes: she’s anticipated this. She’s also anticipated the strike to her solar plexus which she blocks with ease, deftly deflecting Cass’s blow. But what she somehow can’t block is the low kick Cass delivers to her right ankle. Cass sees the exact moment that the attack registers, sees Rose shift her weight to avoid it, but she’s too slow. The blow connects and Cass sweeps her feet out from under her, and in less than a second Rose is on her back, limbs splayed and completely breathless.

“Wow. That was”—a gasp—“you were fast.”

Rose must have bitten her lip as she fell, and there’s a smear of red at the point where she’s broken the skin. Cass wants to lick it, wants to taste the tang of iron right off her lips.

“Yeah,” Rose says, gingerly getting to her feet. “Yeah you’re definitely ready.”

*

Cass’s first kill is a turning point.

She doesn’t know who the mark is and she doesn’t know why Penguin wants him dead; he’s just a bad man from a long list of bad men, handed down to them by worse men. _This is what we do_, Rose had said as she’d helped Cass suit up, her hands running over Cass’s bare shoulders. _We do the job, we get paid._

Cass has already profiled this man. She knows how much he weighs down to a five pound margin of error. She’s calculated the force of his fist should he choose to throw a punch. She knows what to expect. She breaks into his house and lies in wait, crouched in the darkened foyer as she listens for his arrival. As the minutes lengthen, she closes her eyes and lets the fight play out in her mind:

Open palm to the throat _(a gasping, choking sound)._ Upward momentum leaves his solar plexus open to a punch _(grunt of pain)_. He doubles over. Hand in his hair and knee to the face _(crunch of bone as his nose is broken)._ He tries to run. Immobilised by a kick to the knee _(bone cracks on impact)_. He drops to a crouch, clutching his knee. Round kick puts him on his back.

She has him right where she wants him.

In her mind’s eye, Cass sees herself drawing her katana for that final strike, her victim bloody and broken where he’s whimpering at her feet.

But there’s another way.

_When you go after this man, _Rose had said, _you can’t afford to hesitate._

From her position in the dark, Cass hears the crunch of tyres on gravel, the foyer briefly illuminated as a car pulls into the driveway.

_Men like him have security. Armed guards patrolling the perimeter and inside of the house. Constant surveillance. If he makes a sound, they’ll come for you, and you’ll be outnumbered._

Outside, a car door slams. Cass tightens her grip on the hilt of her katana.

_You need this to be quick and clean, in and out. He needs to be dead on the ground before he’s even seen you coming. You need a one-hit knockout—_

Footsteps approach the house.

_—a killing strike—_

A key is pushed into the lock. Cass holds her breath as he knob turns.

_—a deathstroke. _

Cass moves, lightning fast. She registers the split-second of shock on the mark’s face before she drives the tip of her blade through his eye, pushing hard until she hits the back of his skull. The mark goes limp the instant she connects, but she’s already prepared, cradling his body so it falls soundlessly to the ground at her feet. Blood pours from his face and seeps into the carpet, dark and thick as an oil spill, puddling beneath his body as his last breath wheezes from his lungs.

Cass doesn’t linger. She wipes her katana on his shirt and slips out the side door, silent as a shadow. Adrenaline is burning away under her skin, but she doesn’t let it control her. She’s careful and cautious, doubling back several times on her way to the rendezvous point, noting the city’s security cameras and sticking to their blind spots at every opportunity.

Rose is already waiting for her, a dangerous smile on her lips. She looks Cass up and down, and raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

A beat. Finally, Cass nods.

“It was quick?” Rose asks, stalking towards Cass and dropping her voice to a whisper.

Cass nods again.

“How did you do it? Carotid?”

Cass shakes her head, then raises her hand to her face.

“Through the eye? That’s bold.” Rose is so close Cass can feel her breath on her lips, her heart beating in triple time as Rose raises a hand to cradle Cass’s face, wiping away a smear of blood on her cheek. “We just might make a killer out of you yet.”

*

Things change after that.

Rose takes Cass on the job she’d told her about: sixteen agents hitting four targets in one night, with Cass making them an odd seventeen. Rose is sure to keep her close, but her presence does not go unnoticed by the other contract killers.

“This isn’t a day-care, _Ravager_. You can’t just bring along your sidekick and expect her to be added to the payroll.”

Cass doesn’t hesitate. She moves before the final word has even left the man’s lips, grabbing his arm and forcing him into a brutal hold. His scream is a cry of pure anguish, high-pitched and blood-curdling as she dislocates his shoulder in a one, swift movement.

“She’s not my sidekick,” Rose says, circling the man slowly. “We’re more like partners.” Cass’s heart stutters as Rose shoots her a sly grin. “And she won’t be added to the payroll: she’ll be taking your cut.”

Rose brings her boot down on the man’s dislocated shoulder, and Cass hears a sickening crunch before the man howls so loudly, it drowns out everything else.

He’s still screaming when Rose speaks again.

“Grab his gun,” she says to Cass. “You’re taking his place.”

*

In the weeks that follow, Rose takes Cass on more jobs; bigger targets, too elaborate or dangerous for only one agent. Rose leads with the kind of confidence that only experience can bring, and Cass executes her orders with deadly precision, following her word to the letter and never once wavering.

But there are some missions that Rose still insists on taking alone.

They’re in the training room again. Rose has spent the afternoon putting her through drill after drill, having Cass repeat her sequences until she’s convinced of their perfection. Cass is exhausted, sweat dripping into her eyes, but she pushes through the pain, driven by determination.

“That’s enough,” Rose calls suddenly. Cass halts, still in a striking pose, then returns her stance to neutral. “Hit the showers,” Rose says. “We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

Cass holds her gaze for a beat too long, enough to let Rose know that she recognises she’s being dismissed, and that she resents it. Finally, with a slow deliberation, she inclines her head slightly—never once breaking eye contact—and turns to leave the training room.

The mansion has nineteen bathrooms, and there’s only one that necessitates she pass Rose’s bedroom to reach it. Cass makes straight for it, strips out of her clothes and showers efficiently, scrubbing off the sweat and grime from their training session.

Cass knows Rose. She knows it Rose five minutes to suit up. She knows that Rose does a twenty minute warmup before every job. She also knows that Rose keeps her weapons in her bedroom, locked away under her bed, and always stops by her room to retrieve them. Cass counts the minutes in her head, her back against the door as she waits for the sound of familiar footsteps on the hardwood floor.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, Cass’s hair is still dripping wet, sending rivulets of water down her shoulders and over her breasts. As planned, Rose steps into the hallway at the exact moment that Cass steps out of the bathroom—naked, as if she’d forgotten a towel by accident.

A perfect stillness falls over them. They stare at each other for a long moment, neither wanting to be the first to look away. Rose keeps her eyes firmly locked on Cass’s, but there’s no way she hasn’t caught a glimpse of Cass’s body her periphery. A slow flush rises on Rose’s cheeks as Cass drips steadily onto the expensive hall runner, and it’s all Cass can do to stop a smile from curling on her lips. Rose doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to; desire is a dialect spoken without words, and body language is Cass’s native tongue.

“Suit up,” Rose says suddenly, squaring her shoulders the way she does when she wants to project indifference. “You’re coming with me.”

*

It’s the hollow sound of wood on steel that catches Cass’s attention.

“Why don’t we try something new today?”

Rose’s tone is light, but it’s contradicted by her posture, the rigidity of her shoulders. Ever since that last job, the energy between them has become increasingly charged. More than once, Cass has felt Rose’s eyes on her as she’s suiting up, the weight of her gaze heavy, almost tangible. It feels like the spark before a thunderstorm, errant static electricity keeping Cass on edge.

“Here.” Rose tosses her a bo staff, effectively breaking Cass’s train of thought. She catches it easily, testing the weight of it in her grip. “I trust you’ve used one of these before?”

Cass nods. Already she’s itching with anticipation, knees bent and weight shifted to the balls of her feet, waiting to pounce. Rose twirls the staff around her body like a cheerleader’s baton, a cheap trick designed to intimidate, but Cass isn’t distracted; she’s already honing in on possible strike points _(knee, hip, shoulder),_ mapping out a plan of attack that allows her to make contact in the fewest moves possible.

“Ready?” Rose asks, a little breathless.

Cass answers with a nod, not taking her eyes off Rose for a second, and it’s a good thing she doesn’t because Rose is already moving, fluid as liquid, advancing on Cass without mercy. Cass knows Rose will always bend the rules to their breaking point and had anticipated an early attack, parrying Rose’s first three strikes with ease. Cass lunges forward on her the back of her third parry, turning the block into an attack, and Rose is forced to retreat. With the power now shifted in Cass’s favour, it’s easy to dictate the terms of the fight, advancing on Rose until she’s made up her lost ground. Cass is two moves away from victory at any given moment, but Rose’s footwork is as impeccable as ever, allowing her to dodge each of Cass’s strikes with faultless precision.

A heavy silence falls over the training room, broken only by the scuff of their bare feet on the mats, the rhythmic sounds of their staves coming together again and again, until finally, the equilibrium shifts. Rose delivers a low swing to one of Cass’s ankles at the exact moment that Cass shifts all her weight to it, and Cass finds herself on her back a second later, the breath knocked right out of her lungs. She barely has a moment to process the impact of the fall before Rose is on top of her, pushing her into the ground with all of her weight, electricity sparking at every point where their bodies touch.

“Yield.”

The horizontal length of Rose’s staff is pressed against Cass’s windpipe, both hands on either side keeping her pinned to the mat. It’s an illegal move in every code Cass knows of, but that’s never stopped Rose before.

“Yield,” Rose says again, a harsh edge to her voice.

She presses a little harder and Cass knows she’s trapped like a pinned butterfly, that her chances of extracting herself are slim to none. Cass is dizzy, her body prickling all over. Rose’s face is so close to hers, blotting out everything else in the room, and Cass is so completely overwhelmed by her that it’s impossible to think of anything else.

“Yield,” Rose says a third time, and this time it’s a whisper so soft Cass is sure to have missed it if she hadn’t felt the exhalation on her lips. Rose is something terrifying and inevitable, and with the word _yield_ echoing around the inside of her head, Cass does the only thing she can:

She obeys. She yields. 

She lifts her hips and arches against Rose’s body, finally giving herself over to the desire that’s been growing between them. Rose’s eyes widen imperceptibly and Cass, still pinned by her staff, can only hold her gaze, eyes desperate and pleading, begging with her entire body. Rose’s thigh is hard and solid between Cass’s legs, the pressure not nearly enough, and Cass’s mind is drowned out by a chorus of _more more more_.

Rose doesn’t take long to give in. She ducks down to take Cass’s lower lip between her teeth, a vicious mockery of a kiss that leaves Cass trembling with want. Cass’s hips are moving of their own accord, a steady grind. Desire spreads through her body like wildfire, sparking in her gut and radiating out to her fingertips, amplified at every point where their bodies meet.

Rose doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to, never has. Cass knows Rose has wanted this from the day they met; she’s seen it in the way Rose touches her, subconsciously gravitating towards her, her body drawn to Cass’s as if by magnetism. Rose finally lets up the pressure from the staff and tosses it aside, and Cass has only a second to breathe before Rose descends on her, stealing her breath. Rose licks her way into her mouth, fierce and insistent, just the way Cass knew she would be, one hand tangled in her hair and holding her right where she wants her. Rose’s other hand is finding its way under her shirt, pushing the fabric up out of the way so she can run her hands over Cass’s abs, her hips, her nails biting into Cass’s soft skin and leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

The training room is full of the sounds of their harsh breathing, the two of them rocking into each other, finesse long forgotten. Rose finally gets Cass’s bra out of the way, and when she gets her mouth onto her breasts, Cass can’t help but cry out, a guttural sound that’s torn from her throat. Rose’s smile is sharp like a knife’s edge, her bright blue eyes shining with something dark, and Cass _wants. _She wants to be devoured, to be consumed, wants to take anything Rose will give her and then ask for _more_.

Rose is all teeth, biting at her lips and dragging them down the column of her throat, and Cass surrenders to her every touch, feeling pleasure coil in her core with every press of Rose’s thigh. Rose fucks the way she fights: underhanded to gain the upper hand, no holds barred and no holding back, and Cass quickly realises that this is one fight that she’s willing to concede. Cass knows she’s close, teetering on the edge and she throws her head back, baring her throat in surrender. Rose takes the invitation for what it is and bites down hard, sucking a bruise into Cass’s racing pulse as Cass shudders through her orgasm, her nails leaving dents in Rose’s shoulders as she rides out the aftershocks.

There’s a ringing in Cass’s ears. Everything else has gone very quiet. Her vision swims in a haze of silver as Rose shifts, rising to her feet. What Rose says next is almost lost to the sound of blood rushing in Cass’s ears.

“Hit the showers.”

Cass processes the words slowly, then measures them against what she sees to verify their meaning. It may sound like a curt dismissal, but Rose’s body tells her something else. Cass rises slowly with none of her usual poise, unsteady on weak knees. She nods once before leaving, not looking back. When she reaches the changeroom, she starts counting.

_One, two, three—_

The changeroom attached to the gym is open plan, a row of showers lining one wall. Cass strips out of her clothes and starts running the spray.

_—thirty-three, thirty-four—_

Steam begins to fill the room, fogging her vision. Cass strains her ears for the sound of movement beyond the sound of the cascading water.

_—one minute forty-five, one minute forty-six—_

Cass showers with her usual efficiency, running her hands over the newly-forming bruises, pressing them with the pad of her thumb just to feel them ache.

_—three minutes ten, three minutes eleven—_

A door opens and closes. Cass smiles to herself, waiting.

Four minutes and three seconds have passed by the time Rose wordlessly joins her under the spray, already stripped down, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. Cass has seen her naked on more than a few occasions, but never like this, resplendent in the gold light of the bathroom, her hair gone translucent as it’s soaked by the shower spray. Rose grabs her by her jaw and kisses her as the steam rises around them, shrouding them in mist. When they part, Cass leans into her, their foreheads touching as they share the same breath. Then, with a slow deliberation, Cass looks up into her eyes and holds her gaze as she as she smoothly sinks to her knees. Rose doesn’t say anything, just braces herself against the shower wall and hooks her leg over Cass’s shoulder to draw her close.

Cass goes down on her like that, knees aching on the hard, tiled floor, and the heel of Rose’s foot digging into her back. Rose doesn’t hesitate to get her hand into Cass’s hair, holding her still while she rides her face, moaning helplessly as Cass presses the flat of her tongue to her clit, an unerring pressure that has Rose scrabbling at the wall. When Rose comes, her shout echoes off the tile, and Cass holds her by her hips, steadying her as she shakes, not letting up until she’s trembling.

Later, in the sanctuary of Rose’s bedroom, they lie together in the darkness. Rose draws patterns on Cass’s body then follows them with her mouth, breathing words onto her skin.

“We could really do this, you know. Go public. As partners. We’d be unstoppable.”

Cass lets her eyes fall closed as Rose tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Rose’s hand has come to rest on Cass’s cheek, not stroking, just holding her. Cass answers by taking her hand, and pressing a kiss to her palm—a wordless pact.

Rose’s breath hitches. She kisses Cass, her lips soft against Cass’s, and it feels like a promise. When she draws back and rests her head against Cass’s shoulder, Cass can feel her smile against her skin.

“Now all we need is to find you a name.”

*

It takes Cass less than a week to come to a decision.

“So this is the name you’ve chosen?”

Cass swallows hard, then nods. Rose rises from the desk and circles it slowly, coming to rest in front of Cass. There’s a piece of paper clutched in her hand, nondescript except for the way that Cass’s shaky writing spills over the page. Rose stares at it for a long moment. For the first time, Cass finds her utterly unreadable.

“Orphan,” Rose says slowly, as if testing the name on her tongue.

Cass nods. Her heart is drumming a staccato beat against her ribs, but she’s careful to maintain the lines of her posture, refusing to let apprehension show on her face.

“When I took up this line of work,” Rose says, not taking her eyes off the paper, “I took after my father. My suit was modelled after his; same colours, same materials. Same weapons, same techniques, same M.O. His reputation preceded me. When people hired me, they knew what to expect. But you”—she raises her eyes to Cass’s—“Orphan,” she says softly.

Cass is frozen in place, unable to move as Rose crosses the space between them and draws her close.

“They’re never going to see you coming.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
